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tip of his dick up and down the crack of my ass and I elevated it a little so he could get to it better.
    It took a little effort, but he finally got his dick in me and started exploring with it. I clamped my hand around his neck and pulled him closer so I could kiss him on the mouth.
    “I want to see you again,” I readily admitted.
    “I want to see you again, too.” He swept my hair off my face and placed it behind my ear. “I want to see you every damn day if I can.”
    We both chuckled, and then all conversation stopped. We were too busy enjoying one another. Randall came in my ass, and I loved it. I wanted to go grab a shower together and go for it again, but the damn doorbell rang.
    “Auto Club!” we heard a man shout from outside. “Hurry up, because I’ve got half a dozen other calls tonight!”
    Randall stared at me lovingly as he pulled his dick out of my ass. “I better go see about the car. I can get them to tow it, and I can still stay.”
    I grabbed his face and kissed him with as much passion as I could muster. “Hurry back.”
    I was pissed off when I found out that Randall would have to actually go with the driver when the car was towed. Apparently, they had new regulations. I planned to write his crappy auto club the next day and complain. We shared a brief intimate farewell at my door, and he was gone, just like that.
    Fortunately, he came back the next day, and we picked up where we had left off. Thirteen months later we are still picking up where we leave off every morning when we both leave for work. Yeah, we’re shacking, and it is a good thing. I hope to get a ring soon, but I am patient and will let things happen in their own time. Just like things happened the night I met Randall.

Fuckastrated

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    Six months without sex. Felt like six damn years. I never knew I was a sex fiend until I had to go without it for a spell. Davon and I had broken up after a four-year serious relationship, and I was determined not to throw myself on just anyone. A sistah does have to be selective in this day and age.
    Sure, the propositions came flooding in as soon as the infamous split hit the grapevine in our little Kansas town. That was my first damn problem: being single and living in Kansas. There weren’t exactly a ton of eligible brothers in Kansas, if you get what I’m saying. Finding a decent black man in Kansas is equivalent to hitting the lottery.
    At first I was disappointed. Then I was frustrated. Ultimately, I ended up “fuckastrated.” I made the word up for those who have to go without sex when the rest of the world is getting their freak on.
    Ironically, Davon wasn’t all that in bed in the first place. I was just used to having him around. He was familiar and comfortable, like a favorite pair of holey jeans on a Saturday morning or a favorite coffee mug. He had become a daily factor in my life, and once he was gone, something felt missing.
    The way the breakup came about was partially my fault. Okay, it was entirely my fault. Davon had continuously warned me not to talk about our private matters in the streets; especially when there were only four stoplights in the entire town. But I just couldn’t help myself. I was sitting around the water fountain in the town square, kicking it with my two oldest girlfriends, Stacy and Allison, when it simply slipped out. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I really didn’t.
    Anyway, as soon as Davon found out that I had told them about his experimentation with my underwear, he hit the roof. What kind of man wants to parade around the crib in his woman’s panties and bras? He came storming into the little two-bedroom rental house we’d been shacking up in and went from his normal blue-black to cranberry before laying into my ass with a vengeance. I really didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but to him it was everything . His male friends had apparently gotten wind of the situation and teased him without mercy.
    Once Davon packed up his shit